


Lake Emily, Wis.

by Typey



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typey/pseuds/Typey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helena gets a call and takes off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lake Emily, Wis.

She drove. And drove. Ignoring road signs and the incessant beeping of her phone as Nate sent one text after another. She drove past towns and dairy farms, campground entrances and little-known and even less-visited historic sites. She drove as heedless of direction or destination as she once was fixated on an all-consuming goal at Yellowstone.

The sun drifted down toward the horizon, and Helena’s instinct to find imagery and metaphor could only lead to thoughts of Myka. The phone call from Pete had been short, though he was no longer terse out of distrust or dislike. His voice broke as he said the word, and the last false layer hiding Helena George Wells from the world cracked.

Hours after the call — would all time be measured from that point? — she sat alone in a car on a single-lane road that cut through what was clearly a deserted town long bereft of all its vitality and every soul that had once resided there. Staring into the distance and deep into herself in a way she had refused to for so many months, Helena felt a pull as strong as any she’d ever felt — stronger than the draw of Myka’s eyes at that first meeting in London, stronger than the magnetic insistence of Myka’s voice overpowering the cold steel between them, stronger than the blessed tether of faith or the electric bolts of gratitude and forgiveness — a pull to _home_.

The lack of reception at this husk of a village had meant an end to Nate’s messages, but it also meant Helena would have to wait just a bit longer to call Pete. To tell him that she’d lied to him when she’d said she understood that there was nothing to be done. To tell him she was heading to South Dakota. To tell him that percentages and prognoses didn’t matter. To tell him that she had so much to say to Myka, that _would be said_ to Myka.

If there was going to be an end to this story, it would be with them together and only after Helena had finally said _all_ the words that had floated between them, cloaked in such innocuous phrases. [“The jury’s still out.” “I knew you’d think I knew.” “A friend trapped inside” “Thank you.”]

"I love you" the most obvious and the most simple. "You saved me" and "I will learn to forgive myself because you forgave me once" the most important. "You are my truth" the most honest. "I’ve stopped running" the most desperate.

She turned over the engine and pointed her car in the direction of Myka, leaving Lake Emily, Wisconsin, behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> Race got an anon who knows Wisconsin geography — there really is a Lake Emily.


End file.
